Winter Birthdays
by iHedge
Summary: A birthday present from Myself to Me. What to get a certain Easy Company officer? Grace gets ideas. No slash, no smut, no language. Just a little bit of fluff.


_Hello! And a Merry Sunday to you all. _

_This is my birthday present to myself [and it was a heck of a lot of fun to write, especially since I'd just eaten the biggest slice of birthday cake ever—at midnight, no less—and was giddy after blowing out candles three times (once at breakfast, a candle in my eggs) and twice on the cake because my mamma wanted pictures)._

_Anyway, this takes place sometime after Bastogne and before Eagle's Nest. That's all I know. I was inspired upon my remembrances of the scene where Winters is shaving in the middle of winter (Ha, ha—Winters in the middle of winter…) and he's wandering around with soap on his face and it always makes me laugh and, and, and… _

_I have fun. _

_I do own some soap, and some monies after turning another age, but nothing in this story except for Grace, who is a one-time character based on no one that I know. Personally, I'd never… well, you'll just have to read what she does. _

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"Nix!" I yelled at the door that was blocking my view of Lewis Nixon. Then, softer, "It's me, Grace, Nix. Stop digging in that footlocker and let me in."

The door swung open, revealing a smirking, typically unshaven Nixon triumphantly holding a bottle of VAT 69. A sock clung to his shoulder.

"You rang?" He dipped his head and escorted me inside the disheveled room, shutting the door behind us. I plopped onto a chair, absently picked the underwear off the armchair, and hit my head against a nearby desk.

Groaning, I hit the desk again.

Lew took this in through the bottom of his bottle. Nodding, he thumped the glass against his thigh as if he was a professional at interpreting head-against-table bumps.

"Your problem, Ace," he said, "is that you over-think everything." He leaned his chair against the wall, eyebrows raised in smugness at his genius.

"Oh?" My eyebrows rose to match his.

"Mhm," he nodded wisely. "Birthday presents are a simple matter, one easily solved with a little friendly advice and a little whiskey," he murmured against the rim before tipping the liquid down his throat. A smile stretched across his bewhiskered cheeks as a lusty sigh slipped out.

I looked at him.

He looked at me. Then he nodded that nod again.

"He might like a book…?" I threw my hands up, anxiety and adrenaline preventing me from being rational.

"Lewis! Books are unimaginative! Besides, where in Europe am I supposed to find a BOOK in the middle of a WAR!?" I kicked the underwear across the room. "You've known him longer and better, anyway. So you should know."

Lew scratched his head.

"Well…maybe some more soap, for shaving?" He tipped the bottle again, wondering what it was about Dick's footlocker that lent his whiskey such a unique, robust flavor.

Maybe it was his musings that kept his attention away from the boots pounding against the floor and through the door. Maybe it was gurgling of the brew as gravity worked it into his mouth. Whatever the case, when Nixon opened his eyes and scanned the room, the only sign of his visitor was the swinging door and the underwear hugging the wall.

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Richard Winters had endured more well-wishing, birthday pranks, and punches to grow on then any sane man should. Grinding his teeth just a little, he marched toward his shared room, glaring at anyone whose face held any trace of good will.

Maybe it was the heavy crunching of his boots against the snow that blocked the footsteps behind him from reaching his ears. Maybe it was his concentration on the now-empty road in front of him.

At any rate, when hand tapped his shoulder, he was completely unprepared. A (manly) yelp was out before he could repress it. Whirling around, he opened his mouth to rebuke who ever had caught him unawares, only to have his rebuke cut short by soft, full lips.

_What in the world?_ He thought, then forgot that thought as another rushed in.

_Grace…! _His eyes slipped shut and his hands had hesitantly settled on her waist when he felt her hand slide into his pocket and drop something hard and round into it.

The kiss was broken as she whispered breathlessly against his mouth,

"You need a shave, Dick…"

As suddenly as she'd been there, she was gone. Dumbfounded, Dick stared after her for a good five minutes before remembering where he'd been headed.

Sitting in his freshly cleaned room later that night, he turned the soap she'd given him over and over. Lew leaned against the doorway, grinning at his friend.

"I see you got more soap."

Dick mumbled something, nodding once.

"You know, Dick," Nix, said, sitting next to him and throwing an arm around his shoulders, "if I was a girl, I'd be giggling." Jumping up, he ran out of the room giggling and tipping whiskey.

Richard shook his head. This was one birthday he'd never forget.

THE END

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_And Richard Winter celebrates 91 years on January the 21__st__. So while I hope with all my heart no one from Easy Company ever reads any of my stories (what are the chances, anyway?), I wish him a very Happy one. _And many more…

_Talk about an Out-of-Character story. _

_But I have fun. _


End file.
